


All Save His Touch

by FenVallas



Series: Revasel Lavellan [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 16:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4229232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FenVallas/pseuds/FenVallas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Revasel Lavellan has not seen Solas since their return from Halamshiral. She decides to remedy that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Save His Touch

Her return to Skyhold had been accompanied by much fanfare, though she wished it hadn’t.

It had been a victory, the Empress alive, Gaspard vanquished, the Orlesians singing her praises. Within moments of returning, she already had word from Val Royeaux congratulating her on her success at the ball and inviting her to a dozen such other events.

Thankfully, Josephine turned the invitations down, replying that it really ** _was_** more necessary to deal with the threat Corypheus presented than attend parties. Later, she would probably be forced to attend hundreds of balls for the sake of the Inquisition’s continued stability and progress, but for now she was safe from the nobility. Revasel enjoyed parties and social gatherings, but she hated painting her face and listening to people whisper about the ascension of a “rabbit” to power.

This entire event had only made her miss the sorts of parties her people would have for weddings and births and the important holidays dedicated to each of their Pantheon. Even Fen’Harel had his own feast, something she felt nostalgic for at this time of year, when even the ground in the lowlands was covered with snow and the Free Marches saw flurries.

And yet by the time she was done catching up on paperwork, she wanted nothing to do with parties or celebrations of any sort. There was an ache growing her chest, one meant to be filled by the company of one person in particular.

She had seen him last at the gates of Skyhold two and a half days ago, nearly a full three, before she was ushered away by Josephine to preform her neglected duties. Since then, Rey had been locked up in Josephine’s office, the War Room, or her own chambers almost without exception; focusing her attention on the clerical work she owed the Inquisition as its Inquisitor.

And yet…

And yet.

When she thought of him, it made her stomach clench and her heart flutter. She still remembered the expression on his face the morning they had left Halamshiral so clearly. She could see his sleepy smile, recall how _blue_ his eyes had looked as he gazed at her with an expression that still made her heart ache.

Rey couldn’t remember a time she had felt more loved, more valued, than when his hand had grazed her cheekbone and he muttered that one word. He’d been more real than anything else, their limbs entwined, nothing between them at all, his calloused hand a real, grounding comfort in a world that frequently alienated her.

She missed him.

Which was why, instead of signing off on a construction permit for Gatsi, she was creeping across the Great Hall in her ( _shemlen_ ) dressing gown, candlestick in hand. This time of year, it grew dark early, and though supper hadn’t been served yet, Rey had prepared for bed with the assumption that her food would be brought to her. She hadn’t anticipated that she would have to walk across the winter-cold stone in a crowded room filled with visiting nobles.

Later, Josephine would probably scold her for risking whatever image of her these people had for a discussion with her lover, but Rey didn’t care. It had been three days, three days since she had seen him, and four since their coupling. These sorts of absences weren’t unusual, but after that… Rey wanted to be near him, more than anything.

Slipping through the door on the opposite end of the hall, Rey found herself in the rotunda, which smelled strongly of pigment and plaster.

It was drafty, as it always was, but the room itself was bathed in the warm light of a half dozen torches, illuminating the disarray of the place. The scaffolding had been moved from the last time she had seen it, and countless jars of pigment sat both on the scaffolding itself and at its base. Solas stood among the jars, his clothing covered in the evidence of his work, staring contemplatively up at what she could only assume was his completed mural.

“If this is about supper, I will be taking it alone in my room tonight, I –“ Solas froze, as if sensing something was wrong, and slowly turned around.

Surprise flashed across his features, followed by a flicker of indecision, and he cleared his throat. How he managed to remain such a mystery to the rest of the Inquisition, she would never know. Solas had an extremely expressive face, on which all his emotions were clearly displayed for the entire world to bear witness.

Which is why she immediately noticed how dogged he looked, as he shuffled from foot to foot with a wince and cleared his throat, the uncertainty lingering between them.

“Oh. I hadn’t expected… This is… Hello.”

Rey felt her expression soften as she walked to him, placing her candle on his desk so that she could wrap her arms around his neck. His hands seemed to hover for a moment, awkward and hesitant, before he placed them on her hips, relief visibly replacing any distress he had displayed before. “ _Vhenan_.”

“You smell like your pigment,” she said, placing her head against his chest so that he could listen to his heartbeat. “I think you need a bath before supper.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, seeming almost dazed, confused, as if this was the last thing he had been expecting to happen. “Not to say I do not find your presence extremely pleasant, I simply… I hadn’t been expecting company.”

“So you mentioned,” she muttered quietly enough that only he could possibly hear her. “Solas, are you alright?”

“I’m simply tired,” he replied, pulling back, perhaps so that he could look at her. His hand reached up to cup her jaw, and he inadvertently smeared pigment on her face, though he did not withdraw his touch. “I wasn’t expecting to see you for another few days, at the least. This is a pleasant surprise.”

“You _look_ tired,” she said, and now that she was closer, she could see how drawn his expression was, how dulled his usually sharp eyes were with exhaustion and, perhaps, a twinge of pain.

Rey moved her hands, cradling his head to draw him into a kiss. He melted against her, arms encircling her as they always did, sighing into her mouth, breaking away only to lean their foreheads together, his eyes closed.

“Come to bed, Solas. I’ll have a bath drawn and we can wash this all away. You can have a long soak, and I can take a well-deserved break to spoil you.” His eyes opened, and he looked about to protest, but she pressed a finger to his lips. “Let me. It’s been three days, _vhenan_. I want to see you.”

His gaze turned fond and he caught her wrist only to press a kiss to her palm. “When you speak so persuasively, how can I possibly deny you?”

Rey pulled away only to link their fingers together, pulling him along so that she could peer out into the hallway and request supper be brought for she and Solas in her chambers and that a bath be drawn – One big enough for them both. The servant looked somewhat shocked at the implications of her request (their relationship, while not private, was known to be chaste), but hurried off to fulfil it regardless.

It was Solas’ reaction that brought her more pleasure; the tips of his ears turned a pleasant red that told her he had turned bashful. Squeezing his hand, she pulled him along again, mindful of the way he stumbled when she went to quickly. Eager as she may be to have him alone again after what seemed an eternity apart, she slowed their pace to a meander, hands still clasped firmly together.

By the time they reached her room, a tub filled with water was already waiting for them, which was very well because Solas was limping. It brought into question what sort of abuse his painting and plastering actually put on his body, but she didn’t question him right now, simply pulling him back into an embrace.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” she murmured as the long fingers of one of his skilled hands laced through her hair. “I had no idea it could be so lonely.”

“On the contrary,” Solas’ breath ghosted across her skin as he spoke, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I believe I know the weight of loneliness quite well.”

Almost comically, Rey pictured him as she had first seen him, the strange, homely hermit with a basket full of herbs, a vaguely threatening and sharply scholarly figure. The way he looked now as he pulled away from her to fumble with his belts, handsome in the candlelight, the shadows making his face more dynamic, couldn’t be more different.

Reaching out, she pushed his hands aside to help him, smiling the weary shock on his face away. “It’s okay to ask for help, Solas. You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

Before she could fully contemplate what had happened, he pulled her into a passionate kiss, rough palms grasping her face. It was gratitude she felt radiate from his core, expressible only through action as he molded her against his body, releasing her only when he was satisfied she understood his intent.

He looked at her for a moment as she stepped away, and she thought she must look foolish, winded, her hair mussed, but he simply shook his head, as if disbelieving. It was one of those moments where Rey sensed the profound sadness he carried inside of him, the sadness she wanted so badly to chase away. Solas had secrets, and she could only pray to every god she knew that he would one day confide them in her.

“You truly are unique,” he said, stripping himself of his tunic, which he carefully folded and placed on the floor.

“You always say that,” she responded, pulling her nightclothes off from over her head to cast them to the floor, leaving her standing before him in nothing but her smalls, breastband forsaken long ago.

“Only because it is true,” Solas said, eyes lingering on her, a smile overtaking his features and chasing any persistent sadness away. “There is no one else like you, _vhenan_. Not in this world, nor in any other.”

“Always such a sweet talker,” Rey said as she slid her smalls off to slip into the water, watching him undress from where she sat.

He followed her with short work, groaning as he settled between her legs; perhaps a bit awkward, but a better position if she wanted to wash his back and massage the kinks out of his neck and shoulders. Solas always had so much tension.

She pressed a kiss to his neck and leaned her forehead against him, breathing in his scent, which still lingered beneath the metallic smell of the pigment. Her hands skidded lightly over his sides and then over his stomach carefully leaning him back against her for the time being, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. “You were so different at Halamshiral.”

“The atmosphere required it,” he replied, and she saw his eyes were closed, though he hadn’t quite relaxed against her.

“What was it? Danger? Intrigue? **_Sex_**?” Rey laughed, almost breathlessly. “Well I have to say the night certainly delivered on all three. In spades.”

Solas’ eyes snapped open and he turned his head to look at her so that they were nearly nose to nose. Sometimes she forgot how truly ridiculous he could be, how easily offended his sensibilities were, if the red ears were any indication, as noted when she drew back to look at him. But she always remembered, because he kept reminding her of all the little ways in which he was the most interesting and endearing person in any room.

“Relax, Solas,” she squeezed his shoulders, kissing his neck again. “It’s okay. Even if I didn’t actually end up dancing with you at the ball, every moment with you was worth it.”

Solas shifted in her arms, leaning more solidly into her touch and making a small, pained noise that prompted her to rub his shoulders in earnest. For a moment they sat like that, her hands working his shoulders and back, massaging out all the kinks and knots that she could find.

“What do you do to yourself?” she muttered to him. “How do you manage to get your muscles so twisted and tense?”

“The fresco,” he explained. “It requires a great deal of mobility. Five or six hours for each area of the wall, moving up and then down the scaffolding in order to blend the pigment. It is quite labor intensive, though one wouldn’t think it at first.”

“And because you’re pushing fifty…” Rey said, earning herself a glare. “Relax. I know you’re not that old, Solas. Not yet.”

“If I were, it would hardly matter.” His calloused hands began to rub her calves, prompting a sigh to fall from her lips. “The work would have the same toll. Our people slaved for months at a time embellishing the homes of their nobles and gods, growing stiff in the process, their joints atrophying.”

“So the technique… It’s truly Elven, then?” She had read the report on his fresco as it had come across her desk after being sent to Leliana and Josephine (who took the most interest in what Solas did and did not do). “Our ancestors…”

“Yes. I do not know how often you read archeological journals,” he said in a tone that suggested he didn’t expect her to read them at all, “but the academies often are shocked that the “barbaric Elven people” were capable of inventing a form of artwork that retains its vibrancy millennia after its conception.”

“I don’t really look to shem opinions about our people often,” Rey said, feeling him shift in her arms again.

He pulled away and leaned against the opposite end of the tub so that he could look at her properly, though he knocked no small amount of water over the edge in the process. “I find that there is merit in an opinion with a different bias, from time to time. Keeping objectivity is important to me, and though I am not surprised that you reunited Celine and Briala for the sake of the Elves, I can easily see why another person wouldn’t.”

“Does it bother you?” Rey sunk further into the water, looking up in his face. “What I did?”

“Not at all. I find Briala an admirable woman and believe that she will do her best for the Elves of Orlais. It is simply…” Solas’ lips tugged down into a frown, his brows furrowing. “I do not consider myself to have much in common with the Elves.”

It was a sentiment that Rey almost wished she could say she didn’t understand, but she could still remember clearly Deshanna’s professed surprise that the Elves of the City and the Dalish had so much in common. Except unlike Solas, the Dalish and the City Elves really were similar at their core, and unlike Solas, some of the Dalish really didn’t care what happened to their brothers and sisters in the alienages.

“Who are your people, Solas?” Rey searched his face, submerged in the water up to her chin. “If not the Elves, then who?”

“I did not say the Elves were not my people,” Solas said, returning the scrutiny of her gaze with his penetrating eyes, “and even if they were not, being here is still the best way to help them.”

“So you plan to help them by bathing with me?” Rey lifted her leg and then brought it back down on the water, splashing him, laughing as he sputtered. “I’m not sure how that’s helpful at all, Solas. Perhaps you should rethink your plan.”

Surging forward, Solas caught her by the arms, pinning her against the side of the tub and Rey laughed and squirmed, glad that she had managed to lighten the mood, if only slightly. Solas was far too serious for his own good, and when he was caught within his own mind there was no getting him out unless sufficient distraction was provided.

“Perhaps I should rethink my plan,” Solas muttered, kissing her neck as he pressed himself flush against her. “Perhaps it would behoove me to be a bit more flexible.”

Rey pulled away slightly, managing to wrest control of her right arm, which she used to reach out and cup his face. For a moment, they simply stared at one another, Solas’ expression achingly tender as he looked upon her, lips parted, wet hand reaching out to trace the shape of her _vallaslin_.

“No one knows who they are like you, Solas,” Rey leaned closer, kissing his lips, drawing a noise from him that was almost pained. “I’ve never met a man so sure of himself before.”

“Thank you,” Solas’ said as his hand slipped down the side of her neck to rest on the swell of her hip. “Both for saying that, and for seeing that.”

They kissed again, and then again, losing the thread of their conversation for a long moment as their kisses grew increasingly more desperate and lingered longer. “Few people see me,” Solas’ spoke against her lips, eyes heavily lidded, voice full of unspoken sentiment that made shivers trail up and down Rey’s spine, “rather than seeing a pair of pointed ears.”

“I don’t know how they couldn’t see you,” she replied in a voice that was embarrassingly breathless, reminding her just how weak she was to him. “You shine so brightly, Solas. There’s no one in the world like—“

For the second time that night, he kissed her with abandon, uninhibited by whatever had held him back before their night in Halamshiral. Solas was unchained, completely and utterly melting into her embrace, burning like a small sun in her arms. Whatever reservations she had about their relationship or the Inquisition always seem so insignificant when he was holding her like this, kissing her as though she was the center of the very universe.

“ _Ar lath ma_ ,” Solas said against her lips. “ _Vhenan_ … My heart…”

Rey pressed her hand to his chest and looked into his eyes one last time before he fell on her and she forgot all but his touch and the way he made her sing.


End file.
